Brooklyn: Nineteen Twenty-Something
by Maxiekat
Summary: On the rooftop of Clint's apartment building, Bucky is silently sitting in the corner with Clint's dog, watching as everyone else enjoys each other's company. At one point, Sam asks Steve to share the story of how he and Bucky met, only he tells the story so badly that Bucky feels compelled to jump in and set the record straight.


**Brooklyn: Nineteen Twenty-Something**

The sun was setting and everything took on that washed out blue-grey cast of twilight. Bucky tilted his head back, looking up where the sky was the darkest blue, the stars faint but he could just make them out if he concentrated hard enough. Too many lights and too much pollution had robbed Brooklyn of its stars, but they were there if you looked hard enough.

"Hey, Earth to Barnes," Clint Barton, code-named Hawkeye, shouted at him. Bucky lowered his head, blinking at the man who was standing on the opposite side of the rooftop, holding a spatula, wearing a purple apron, and looking at him expectantly.

Bucky didn't answer. He usually never answered. Silent stares said plenty.

Steve walked over to him and nudged his shoulder. "Answer the guy, Buck. Hamburger or hot dog?"

Bucky shrugged. He really didn't care.

"Both," Steve decided for him, walking over to Clint and the others who were waiting around, holding plates and bottles of beer. Talking. Smiling. Laughing. Friends. They were friends. He liked them well enough, even if he still felt like a stranger around them.

He liked the dog, though, he thought as he ruffled his hand in Lucky's fur and the dog leaned heavily against his legs. Lucky was Clint's dog, but the minute Bucky was in a room with him, or in that case, a rooftop, that fact became debatable. The one-eyed, broken down mutt made a bee-line for Bucky the minute he saw him and it was hard to get him to leave his side. Bucky was grateful for the company – the dog gave him something to focus on while everyone else had each other. Plus, he didn't ask him to make conversation, which moved him to the top of Bucky's "Favorite People" list.

A little over a month ago, Clint had let him and Steve move into empty apartments in the Bed-Stuy building he might possibly own – Bucky caught the hesitancy in the guy's voice when he tried to explain the situation to him. It didn't exactly sound like it was all on the up and up and the building may or may not belong to some Russian mob guys who liked tracksuits. Apparently, things had worked out and the mob guys were gone, leaving the building mostly intact but in need of some repairs, which Clint volunteered Bucky and Steve to help with in exchange for free rent. Bucky went along with it because the alternative was Avengers Tower and that meant Stark and that meant being on edge every second of the day. Plus, Bed-Stuy was in Brooklyn – maybe not the right neighborhood, but close enough. It felt right.

Steve returned with two plates piled high with food. He handed one to Bucky and then tossed him a beer he'd had tucked under his arm. Sam and Natasha joined them, dragging over rickety patio furniture, forming a semi-circle around Bucky and Lucky. Clint lit a bunch of candles and then perched himself on the wall surrounding the roof. Bucky had a flash of falling backwards, but it was into snow, not onto a busy Brooklyn street. Shaking his head, he took a bite of hot dog, trying to erase the taste of blood from his mouth.

"So, Steve, you should tell us a story," Sam said, grinning in the candle light.

"I don't tell stories," Steve said, squirming in his seat.

"You have to have some good ones, man," Sam persisted. "How about when you and this guy met?" He nodded toward Bucky, whose hand froze, a forkful of Mama Wilson's potato salad halfway to his mouth.

Steve looked at Bucky and shrugged. "It's not that interesting."

Natasha snorted, "Sure it isn't."

Steve shifted in his seat again, rubbing the back of his neck until it was red. "It's really not. I was fighting some guys in an alley. Bucky showed up near the end and helped wrap things up. End of story"

"Wow, Rogers, you should write all that down. Natural born storyteller," Natasha deadpanned.

"And full of shit," Bucky said suddenly, not even realizing he was going to say anything.

Clint let out a whoop and caught himself before tumbling off the roof. "You owe me ten bucks, Nat. Told you he'd say something tonight."

She rolled her eyes at him and then turned her attention to Bucky, like she as about to launch an interrogation. "There's more to the story, isn't there, Barnes?"

"Of course there is," he said as he offered half his burger to the dog.

"Buck-" Steve started, but Bucky raised his hand, cutting him off.

"You had your shot. It's my turn now." Everyone scooted their chairs closer, the sound of aluminum scraping against concrete sending knife blades down Bucky's spine, but he shook it off, suddenly not minding an audience. Steve looked stricken and he fought a smile as he decided how to start the story.

"Brooklyn. Nineteen Twenty-somethin'," he finally said.

"Nineteen Twenty-Seven," Steve interrupted.

"Shut up, Rogers," Bucky said and he was rewarded with a smirk from Natasha. "As I was saying … Brooklyn. Nineteen Twenty-_Seven_. It was warm out, almost summer. I was heading home from school …"

XxXxXxXxXx

School let out and it was like a dam had broken. Bucky was one of the first kids out the door, squinting into the sunlight he had forgotten even existed as he sat trapped in school, listening to Miss Lockwood as she droned on and on about fractions. As far as he was concerned, fourth grade couldn't get over with fast enough.

One of his friends came up behind him, jamming his bony elbow into his back. "Stick ball game?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't think I can make it today, Jimmy."

"But you're the best hitter we got," Jimmy argued. "And I heard Hodge braggin' that they were gonna whip us today."

"Well, you shoulda asked me before you said we'd play," he said as he hopped down the stairs. "My ma's got a church meeting to go to tonight, so I'm stuck babysitting."

"Bring 'em along."

"You want me to drag my kid sisters to a stick ball game, the last one of which almost broke out in a rumble and would've if not for Officer O'Malley breakin' things up at the last minute?"

"Well, yeah."

Bucky squinted at him thoughtfully. "You know, you ain't as stupid as you look."

"I ain't?"

"Nah," he grinned, "you're stupider."

"Come on, Barnes," Jimmy whined as Bucky pushed through the wrought iron gate and hurried out onto the crowded sidewalk.

Without looking back, Bucky half-heartedly waved over his head. "See ya on Monday."

He was a block from school when he heard an odd sound, like someone slapping the side of a building with a wet blanket.

"Thwack!" There it was again. Bucky slowed his steps as he listened, the alley next to the barber shop just a few feet away. He knew a scuffle when he heard one and it sounded like someone was getting the stuffing kicked out of them.

He glanced behind him, couple of kids headed home, same as him. No cops or anyone who could help – not that he was a snitch or anything. He took a deep breath and clenched his right hand into a fist. He was holding onto his belt-wrapped school books with his left. His first instinct was to drop them, but then he realized they could come in handy as a weapon, if it came to that. Could just be he was up way too late reading those dime store novels he'd snuck from the racks at Pop's drug store and now he was paying the price with his overactive imagination.

He turned the corner, his knuckles skimming the brick of the barber shop as he hesitated to figure out what was going on. The alley was dark and narrow, but he could make out some shapes. There were two boys who looked to be a couple of years older than Bucky – one tall and skinny, the other squat and burly - standing over a scrawny kid who was lying on the ground, his lip busted and his eye swelling shut. It looked like he was trying to push himself to his knees, trying to get back up but the other kids just laughed. "You just don't know when to give up, do you, Rogers?"

The taller one picked up his foot and shoved the one they called Rogers in the shoulder. He fell back and Bucky could see the way his chest was rising and falling, like he was having trouble catching his breath.

"I'm not scared of you," Rogers said, gasping between each word.

The guys laughed. "Just give up. My grandma could whoop you with one arm tied behind her back," Tall and Skinny said.

"Well, too bad your grandma ain't here to help you," Bucky said dryly, trying his damnedest to sound cool and menacing. The pair of junior thugs spun around, confusion on their faces.

"What the hell do you want?" Squat and Ugly took a step forward, cracking his knuckles just like the thugs in those gangster pictures he snuck into with Jimmy.

Bucky kept his gaze steady, the leather of the belt creaking as he tightened his grip on his books. "I want you to stop beating up little kids."

"I'm not a little kid," Rogers protested, bracing his hand against the wall as pulled himself to his feet. Bucky rolled his eyes, wanting to tell him to keep his trap shut while he took care of things.

Tall and Skinny rolled his shoulders and glared at Bucky. "You heard him, he ain't a kid. So scram and go find some kittens to rescue from a tree or somethin'."

"Looks like he wants a beating, same as his little friend here." Squat and Ugly started walking toward Bucky. "I say we give him what he wants."

Bucky swung out with his left hand, his books arcing through the air and connecting with Squat and Ugly's face. He howled in pain, grabbing his jaw. Recovering quickly, he rammed into Bucky like a charging bull, his nostrils flaring. Bucky squirmed away from him, using his smaller frame to his advantage. Swinging his books again, he caught the guy in the small of his back, dropping him to one knee. The force of the blow snapped the belt and he let it drop from his grasp, his books scattering on the ground. Bucky drove his knee up, catching the guy in the nose. A sickening crunch sounded in the tight space as blood exploded and the kid started to cry, clutching his face.

Tall and Skinny grinned at him, his teeth crooked and sharp. "Kid, you chose the wrong alley today."

Bucky clenched his fists like his Uncle Matt had taught him, moving his weight to the balls of his feet, bouncing slightly as he eyed up the guy that towered over him. "I don't know, seems like a good choice to me."

Tall and Skinny swung, his aim high and Bucky ducked, bringing up his left fist tight and low, catching the guy in the gut. He doubled over for a second and started to come up to swing again, only to meet Bucky's right fist in his eye. Bucky's knuckles ignited in pain, arcing down the back of his hand and up his arm, but it was worth it to see Tall and Skinny fall to the ground, out cold.

"What's going on down there?" a shrill voice sounded from one of the windows above. Bucky glanced up but couldn't see anything through the laundry that was strung up between the buildings. "You kids better not be fighting again! I'm going to get the police!"

Bucky grabbed his books and hurried over to Rogers. "Come on, kid. We gotta get outta here before the cops shows up."

"They don't put nine-year-olds in the slammer," Rogers said.

_Nine?_ Bucky would have pegged him at seven, maybe eight, tops. Definitely not just a year younger than himself. "Yeah, but they do take you home and make you stand there while they tell your parents about the life of crime you're about to lead if they don't keep you locked in your room until your thirty."

"Sounds like you've had this happen before."

"You hear things at school," he lied, rubbing the back of his neck.

Rogers staggered a bit, his hand reaching out to lean against the wall and Bucky glanced at him – the kid looked like he was fifty pounds soaking wet and he barely reached Bucky's shoulder. He reached out to help him but Rogers shoved his hand away. "I'm okay," he mumbled through his split lip.

"Yeah, you look like a million bucks."

"Two million," Rogers countered with a lopsided grin as he limped onto the sidewalk. Bucky hovered next to him, afraid he'd have to catch him if he fainted or puked or something. He didn't look good at all.

The sidewalk was empty when they reached it – not a cop around. Their luck was still holding. They hurried down the sidewalk as quickly as they could – Bucky trying to act natural as the kid limped along, shadowing him a few steps behind as he held his ribs. Bucky didn't let out a breath until they turned the corner.

Bucky took a few steps and then huffed out a breath and turned around. "Since I saved your life and all, I should probably introduce myself." He held out his hand and grinned. "James, James Buchanan Barnes. My friends call me Bucky."

"Um, Steve Rogers," the kid said as he shook his hand. Bucky swore he could count each and every bone in the kid's scrawny hand. "My friends call me … um … Steve. Thanks for the help, by the way, but I had 'em."

"Sure you did. Anyway, stay out of trouble."

"See you around, James," Steve said to his departing back.

"Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky stopped and turned on his heel. "I_ just_ said my friends call me Bucky. You thick or somethin', Steve?"

"No, I just figured …" Steve said as he ran a shaking hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The shiner on his eye was turning a brilliant shade of purple and Bucky's own face throbbed in sympathy.

Bucky hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Look, I was headin' home. My ma made her world famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes last night and there's plenty of leftovers. Always room for one more."

Steve stared at the ground for a few seconds, his brow furrowing and Bucky could tell he wanted to say yes. Finally, Steve sighed and looked up. "Thanks. But I should get goin'."

Bucky cocked his head and grinned. "World famous. I ain't a liar."

Steve shook his head but Bucky persisted, like he now had a mission to make this sad little kid his friend. "My ma's not home and my pa's out at sea – merchant marine – so it's just me and my three little sisters and the most boring Friday night imaginable. You tellin' me yours is much better?"

Steve shrugged. "Meatloaf sounds good, I guess."

Bucky slung his arm over his new friend's shoulders as they made their way down the street. "It's great. Trust me," he said and then he started to tell Steve about his family and the building they lived in, which turned out to be not far from Steve's apartment that he shared with his mom. He'd gotten to the part about always wishing he had a brother because it wasn't much fun being surrounded by all girls when Steve interrupted him.

"Bucky?" he said, his voice low.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Steve. Just try not to make a habit out of getting beat up."

Steve grinned and squinted up at him, one eye swollen almost shut. "Can't make any promises."

Bucky sighed and shook his head. "Now, how did I know you were gonna say that?"

XxXxXxXxXx

Bucky finished and everyone was staring at him, including the dog. He didn't know what to say, so he took a long pull of his beer instead.

"Bucky, that was …" Steve started, his eyes wide and watery. He was probably going to praise him for having a breakthrough or whatever in the hell his therapist called it when he acted like a real person for a change.

"An awesome story," Sam interrupted before Steve had a chance to make things weird.

"That's the one you should write down," Natasha said, gently punching Steve's shoulder.

"One question, though," Clint said, hopping down from the wall. "Who else is hungry for meatloaf now?"

Everyone raised their hands and Steve laughed. "What do you say, Bucky, want to give Mrs. Barnes's World Famous Meatloaf a shot?"

Bucky shrugged. "Don't remember the recipe."

"You remembered all that other stuff but not the recipe for meatloaf?"

Bucky tapped his temple with the mouth of his beer bottle. "Swiss cheese brains, remember?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "Or you never knew it in the first place."

Bucky grinned. "Or that."

Steve stood and stretched. "Well, I think I remember enough to give it a shot. Round two for dinner?"

Clint pushed past toward the door to the stairs. "Last one downstairs has to do the dishes."

Natasha and Sam followed as Bucky pushed himself out of the unstable aluminum chair, Lucky still shadowing his every move. Steve hesitated and then reached out, grasping Bucky's shoulder. "I had 'em, you know? I really did."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "The only thing you had was a black eye and bruised ribs. You're lucky I showed up."

Steve swallowed, his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he was taking. If Bucky didn't know better, he'd think he was on the verge of an asthma attack. "I know I've told you a bunch and I know you don't really believe me, but it's good to have you back."

He dropped his hand from Bucky's shoulder and took a step toward Bucky, who took an instinctive step back, putting his hands up. "Shit. You're gonna hug me, aren't you?"

Steve laughed. "Just a tiny one, Buck. You can count the seconds. No more than fifteen, I swear." And with that, Bucky was enveloped in a super soldier hug. He held himself rigid, holding his breath, but then something happened. He relaxed into it, his shoulders dropping, his lungs expelling the air they were holding. Tension eased from him and he relaxed into the arms of the man who called him a friend.

Steve noticed because Steve noticed everything. "I missed you so much," he said, his voice muffled in Bucky's sweatshirt.

Bucky awkwardly patted him on the back with his right hand. Once. Twice. And then he dropped his hands awkwardly by his sides. "Stevie," he said to Steve's shoulder. "Fifteen seconds are up. The dog's staring at us."

Steve pulled back. "Right. Sorry about that." He brushed at his eyes and Bucky looked away. "So," Steve said after a couple of beats. "You really don't remember what your mom put in her meatloaf."

"Nope. You remember what your mom put in hers?"

Laughing, Steve said. "No, I guess not."

Bucky tilted his head, thinking. "Ya know? I may not remember her meatloaf, but I bet I can make her mashed potatoes."

"Seriously?"

"I mean, maybe not world's best, but pretty damn close."

They got to the door and Steve opened it, nodding to the stairs that snaked down the building. "Wanna race? Or do you feel like doing the dishes?"

"Like you'd win," Bucky countered, pushing past Steve.

"I got some moves." Steve fell into place behind him, right at the back of his heels.

"Like those Nineteen Twenty-Seven moves? I'm pretty sure I've got this one in the bag."

They kept arguing the whole way down to Clint's floor, leaving Lucky at the top of the stairs, head cocked and confused.

Voices drifted up the stairwell.

"Told you I'd win, old man."

"Only because I let you. And you're a year older than me."

"Hey, where's my dog?"


End file.
